


stop playing with trash

by Hydra_Trash_Gal



Series: Tumblr Fics [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: All hurt no comfort, Assets & Handlers, Bathing/Washing, Canon-Typical Violence, Dehumanization, HYDRA Trash Party, Mentions of Urine, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-26
Updated: 2019-01-26
Packaged: 2019-10-17 05:48:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17554559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hydra_Trash_Gal/pseuds/Hydra_Trash_Gal
Summary: rumlow is not happy to be stuck on asset-duty and the asset is a bit of a hoarderorthe one where rumlow gets to hurt the asset physically and emotionally





	stop playing with trash

The next op isn't for an entire goddamn week and Rumlow is certain he isn't going to make it.

The tech team, useless as ever, torments him relentlessly with Asset related duties. God forbid it looks at one of the lab coats wrong — better page the Handler! 

So here is, Rollins as his back up, bathing the Soldier because self-grooming was a solid no-go as it 'fostered dependency'. 

Brock has done plenty of shit in his day he hates but bathing a hundred year old assassin takes the fucking cake.

"I don't like that one." 

Silence is best. Rumlow is able to think happy thoughts and not about the fact he is eventually going to be reduced to washing the Asset's junk. 

"You don't like what?" Rollins asks and Rumlow gives him a murderous look. 

Rollins, who is not helping at all but rather leaning against the wall — well out of the splash zone of the frigid water — just shrugs. There's something in those moss green eyes that makes Brock's blood boil — amusement. Fucker thinks it's funny. 

"That." The Soldier nudges a generic black bottle of soap on the floor with it's toe and knocks it over.

Brock's temper flares but the Soldier looks equally startled by the reaction. 'Fall' he says but it's in Russian. His brows come together in something between constipation and concentration. He nudges the other bottle and it too rocks to the side and hits the tiles with a wet 'smack'. 

'Fall' he says again but this time it's Slavic. 

Brock slaps it, the sound satisfying as it bounces off the walls. He does so again, because he can and because this task is below him. 

The Soldier, wet and miserable looks away from Brock. "Bad," Rumlow says because if it's gonna act dumb that's exactly how he'll treat it.

He's drying the Soldier off when it speaks again. "I found treasures," it's says in a hushed tone and Brock blinks up at it in confusion. "Do you want to see them Commander?"

Rumlow looks to Rollins who shrugs seeming as confused as he is. It's a general guideline that the Soldier is NOT to be given things. He hoards shit like a fifty year old cat lady and it's a pain in the ass for everyone else. It's well known that if the Commander sees them, he'll take them away. 

"Sure thing Soldier," he sighs. "Let's get you dressed first."

Sweatpants and a tee-shirt pulled from the supply closet fit it well enough. Rumlow is certain he had a pile of paperwork awaiting him once the Asset is locked safely back into it's cell. There is an uncomfortable feeling his chest — guilt because he will have to take whatever it is the Asset is so desperate to share.

The cell is small, just large enough for a thin cot with a nest of blankets and sheets beneath it. "Beds are for people and the Asset is not a 'people' it is a Weapon and weapons should not be in a bed," the Asset explains when Rollins questions it.

Brock has that tight chest feeling back and wants to pretend he never heard about the treasures. But what kind of Hydra operative would that make him? 

"Let's see what you've got Soldier," Brock claps his hands together to hasten the process.

The Asset bares it's teeth and it is fucking terrifying because it's an attempt at a smile. Brock wants to tell it that weapons don't smile but apparently he is growing weak and doesn't get the words out. It slips under the bed and back out again, quick like a viper, hands cupped. Brock is a bit nervous because he always worries the Soldier will defer from it's programming and snap.

It opens it's hands and Brock snorts. 

The technician who pages him has a killer sweet tooth and eats those Dove chocolates every single day. The Asset has apparently been scarfing the wrappers, smoothing them out. "Bright," it whispers as a metal finger trails the brightly colored side. "They're treasures, Commander."

The world's most feared assassin was a moron. "Garbage," Brock picks up the flimsy metallic wrapper and crumples it between two fingers. "Give 'em here."

The Asset looks wounded. Steel blue eyes brimming with moisture. "T-treasures," it says again, directly disobedient and Brock pulls out his stun baton. 

'Please,' it begs in Russian.

Brock fingers the voltage to the peak and the Asset squeezes it's treasures into the trash it truly is and let's them fall into Brock's outstretched hand. Brock pockets it and then presses the baton against it's lower stomach. 

It's body seizes and the front of the sweatpants darken with urine. It crumples to it's knees making a keening noise. 

Brock sure as fuck isn't going to wash it again. 

"Don't play with trash." he warns and then he and Rollins see themselves out.

Brock chuckles as he dropped the wrappers into the bin. Sometimes the Fist of Hydra is absolutely pathetic.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this, please let me know! Thank you for reading.


End file.
